In The Grip Of Old Winter Read online

  Peter squeezed the seal-amulet. Which charm? He stared so hard, his eyes hurt. The silver marks revolved in slow circles and their gradual progression, round and round, calmed his fear and he glimpsed, as if by a sudden light that flashed just out of sight, a hint of meaning, a distant understanding of each silver marks’ purpose.

  He gripped the seal-amulet tighter, grappled with these tantalising revelations, longed to understand them better, but they slipped out of his mind’s reach and the silver marks faded and the seal-amulet went dull and cold.

  ***

  Peter shouted. “It’s not red anymore.” He held it up for Wulfwyn and Godwine to see. “She must have moved away.” Relief that a mark hadn’t flared, hadn’t forced him to try and make it work, made his heart pump.

  As he approached, Wulfwyn sheathed his knife. He took hold of the seal-amulet and studied each side. His voice rasped low and deep, as if he didn’t want his words to be heard. “Might it not be the spae-wife?”

  Peter didn’t understand. “What?”

  Wulfwyn frowned and spoke louder. “Might it be your anger?” He let go of the seal-amulet. “Anger flows in your blood and releases a spark, like a flint that strikes to make a flame.”

  “Like...” Peter said. “I’m angry and that makes it work?”

  “Do you believe this to be so?”

  Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not happened before. I suppose...”

  Wulfwyn gazed up at the ridge. “Let us hope that it might be so, for we must follow. Leonor is captive and I fear for her fate.” He strode around the fire. “Their tracks will be lost as night approaches.”

  Peter followed. “I don’t know if I can be angry when I want.”

  Wulfwyn said, “To study a passion is to make it weak. A need will serve you better.”

  Peter nodded and somewhere deep inside he thought he understood, but he didn’t know the right words to make it clear and so understanding faded, though instinct lingered.

  Wulfwyn and Godwine faced the fire and sank to one knee, their heads bowed. Peter did the same.

  Peter knew the word ‘revenge,’ though not a clear idea of what it meant in real life. Characters in his computer games often talked of revenge, but that just meant another excuse for a fight.

  His anger, tears, frustration and helplessness when he attacked the bramble bush, revealed a newer and deeper understanding to the phrase, ‘I will take my revenge.’ Like a hard lump of iron stuck in his stomach, he wanted justice for Oswald’s death and Leonor’s capture and he didn’t care how scared or hopeless or frustrated his attempts might be, because he meant to fight and, he wished, to succeed. Even to death. His body tingled with fear, but he meant to do as he said and that thought thrilled.

  Wulfwyn and Godwine rose. The flames flickered around Oswald’s blackened rib cage. Snowflakes drifted into the fire and melted, then bubbled as their moisture dropped onto the embers. Peter hoped that wild animals didn’t gnaw burnt bones, but that after the frosts left, the bones crumbled into the earth so that Oswald’s journey, as Wulfwyn explained, continued into the next life.

  Peter didn’t know about the earth or the fire spirits of which Wulfwyn talked. Did they mean the same as God and Jesus in his time? He thought not. Perhaps in this time, as Muslims did in his time, some of them worshipped different gods.

  He stared at Oswald’s ribcage. “Where’s Bosa? Is he burnt too?”

  “No,” said Wulfwyn. “Godwine found the spae-wife, the carrier and the barghest in the tunnel, but not Eorl Bosa.” He pointed towards the ridge. “He might have walked with them, for Godwine thought he saw another, though the distance and the strange mist that swirled around them made it hard to see.”

  Peter swallowed. “Do you think Bosa killed Oswald and then escaped?”

  “No.” Wulfwyn shook his head. “He carried no weapon. Eorl Oswald held the sword Godwine gave. The barghest leapt upon Eorl Oswald’s back and with its teeth, bit his neck.”

  Why didn’t it attack Bosa?

  “It’s weird,” said Peter. “Bosa is unconscious, Oswald stands guard and is wide awake and yet Bosa escapes from Oswald, the spae-wife, the barghest and the carrier. Suppose Bosa did wake up, took Oswald by surprise and knocked him out, which gave him a chance to run away before the others arrived, because he must have been running away when we found him under the bush.”

  Wulfwyn said, “There is reason to these words. The prints left by those that pass are easy to read, yet they fade under new-fallen snow and are soon lost. I have searched past all the trees that stand fifty paces from this place and though I might have missed a broken twig or a mound of scuffed snow, I did not find Eorl Bosa’s path.” He waved his arm in a wide circle. “His marks are here, with mine and yours and all the rest, but not one clear print reveals his passage. We cannot wait to see if he returns and so his intent must remain unclear.” He faced the trees and the slope that climbed to the ridge. “Come.” He strode away and Godwine and Peter followed.

  The barghest might have eaten Bosa whole or buried him somewhere to eat later. No, a dragon might be able to eat a man whole, bones and all, but not a big dog. At least, Peter hoped not. Did the barghest eat bits of Oswald before Godwine appeared? He concentrated on where he trod as he walked between the outlaws.

  The slope through the trees steepened. Peter reached out to grab tree roots and fallen branches for support. His breath steamed as he panted and his legs ached with the effort of every step. The shadows deepened as daylight diminished. Where did the spae-wife mean to take Leonor? Did his appearance in the tunnel with the outlaws frighten her away? She must realise that he didn’t know how to work the seal-amulet, so why be scared? There had to be another reason why she didn’t press her attack, because he found it hard to believe that though he nearly died and the seal-amulet lost its power, she didn’t know where to look.

  The trees thinned and ferns flourished in the wider spaces and the uphill climb became harder. Sweat trickled down his cheeks and he glanced up to see how much further to the top. The snow-field shone pure white and, from this distance, revealed no clue as to their quarry’s direction.

  Wulfwyn halted and wiped his sleeve across his face. “Godwine, can you show where they walked over the ridge?”

  Godwine shuffled round to look back at the route they’d just climbed, then to the left and then to the right. He pointed to the right, his outstretched arm at a diagonal from where they stood. Wulfwyn set off in that direction and as the snow-field came closer and the ferns thinned, he peered from side to side as he hunted for tracks.

  Peter wished he still had the torch, for grey daylight faded to deeper shades and the shadows cast by the ferns made the ground dark as night. How did Wulfwyn hope to spot any clues? Above, the snow glowed as if lit, though it revealed nothing.

  The ferns grew wider apart and snow crunched under Peter’s boots. Godwine walked next to Wulfwyn, their heads down, their shoulders tense with concentration. Too much snow might have fallen, the ridge stretched a long way right and left, Godwine might not be certain where he saw the spae-wife cross.

  The seal-amulet bounced against Peter’s chest.

  I hate the spae-wife, I hate the barghest, I hate the carrier, I hate them, hate them... The seal-amulet stayed unchanged. I must be really angry and... and not think about it... just be it. He gripped his knife tighter, clenched his jaw, stamped the ground with every step and willed the tight knot in his stomach to hurt again. It didn’t work and he knew why. As if a third eye opened in his head, he watched his actions, monitored his anger, pretended that it might be real and because he thought all this, it didn’t work.

  Anger must be real. Just anger? Might the seal-amulet work with other emotions? Envy, jealousy, greed? He knew these words from church, thought he understood them, but to explain them, to make them clear in his head, proved tricky. Wulfwyn said ‘need.’ Like instinct? Something known, though perhaps not understood, that happened by chance. He hoped ‘chance’ happe
ned when the seal-amulet went red again.

  Godwine halted and placed a hand on Wulfwyn’s arm. Grey light slipped into dark night. Wulfwyn leaned forward to where Godwine pointed and Peter crept closer.

  The fronds on the nearest fern hung limp and broken. Beyond, imprints, though softened by new-fallen snow, revealed fresh-laid tracks that crossed the snow-field up to the top of the ridge.

  Wulfwyn gave Godwine’s back a hearty thump. “This is well done. Our pursuit will be swift. Let us follow.” He strode through the snow as he climbed. “The path may be lost to darkness in the trees beyond and our chase halted until day returns. Their pace is slow, their tracks clear, we shall be upon them faster than hounds at hunt.”

  Peter wondered. ‘Then what?’ How did Wulfwyn mean to rescue Leonor? Three of us against three of them and they were fiercer, stronger and much more frightening.

  And the seal-amulet’s magic might work one way or the other.

  Peter grunted with effort as he took big strides to reach the top of the ridge. He halted to catch his breath and looked back. Below, the forest lay hidden in shadow, but beyond the trees, far into the darkness, the snow gleamed. Somewhere in that distance, a cry, like a moan at first, gathered strength and rose into a long howl that hung in the air and gathered all the sorrows of the earth into that one sound where it held them, suspended.

  Perhaps the moon shines behind the clouds and that is why the wolf howls.

  ***

  Peter slipped and slithered after Wulfwyn and Godwine down the other side of the ridge. The tracks left by the spae-wife and her companions proved easier to follow, as lumps of snow had rolled aside as they passed.

  Peter guessed they’d taken the same route when they climbed the ridge to Eorl Bosa’s. Did they mean to return to Oswald’s manor? How close to Peter did the spae-wife need to be to work the seal-amulet? He never saw her at Eorl Bosa’s when she attacked the knights on the cleared way. Did she know that they followed?

  He brushed past the ferns that grew in tighter clumps as they approached the trees. The snow’s uniform brightness dimmed and Wulfwyn’s pace slowed. Ahead, in the forest, night’s shadow deepened.

  Wulfwyn halted. “It is not possible to mark their traces. Yet, we cannot tarry if we mean to be swift. Their path may turn.” He glanced back at the ridge. “Though it follows their earlier way.” He faced the forest. “The trail to the hollow tree is known to me, be it night or day. There let us take shelter and when day returns, fates be kind, we will find their tracks once more.”

  Peter nodded and so did Godwine.

  The dark and the men’s long strides made it difficult for Peter to keep up the pace. He blundered after them, followed the sound of their steps, kept his hands up in case he walked into a tree. Twice he tripped over roots and almost fell. Strands of cold moss brushed past his cheeks and made him jump.

  His eyes adjusted and the dark lightened to a deep grey. The outlaws’ backs appeared as darker shadows that weaved their way before him through the trees. The crack of twigs and the rustle of Peter’s anorak as it brushed past a bush or a tree’s bark must be easy to hear to anything or anyone that walked the forest on this still night.

  Did Bosa watch? Or follow? Peter ran to keep closer to the men. His legs ached and the weight of his backpack as it bounced against his shoulders made every step an effort. He’d never be able to find his way to the hollow tree, even in daylight, but he trusted Wulfwyn and he needed to or he’d be lost for ever. This way brought him back towards the charred branch and a glow of relief flowed through his chest.

  If time stood still back at granddads’, then dad might still be in the house with grandma and mum. Even if it moved forwards just a bit, perhaps Farmer Brunt and his tractor hadn’t travelled all that far to hospital. Might there be a way for the charred branch to take him back to granddads’ a few hours earlier, so that he stopped dad from falling off the ladder? He wanted that and there might be a way which he didn’t know yet. Did the seal-amulet hold the secret? Though so far, Time never went further back from his last visit, whichever Age he moved through.

  He mustn’t think ahead, for real dangers threatened and Oswald’s manor must still be full of knights.

  The ground dipped and Peter stumbled. Below, water splashed and sparks of light winked like twinkling stars from its surface. The dead oak loomed tall and majestic from the middle of the stream, bare and pale, like a grey ghost.

  Wulfwyn halted. They all listened to the water in silence. Peter heard nothing above its’ constant rush.

  Wulfwyn leaned in close and said, “Let us approach the tree from the water’s farthest bank. Godwine,” he pointed right, “take that way. I shall keep the boy with me. What does the charm reveal?”

  Peter held up the seal-amulet and twisted it around. “There’s nothing. It’s not red or anything.”

  “It is best to be wary,” said Wulfwyn. “For it is not always to be trusted. We meet by the water’s side.” Godwine stepped into the darker shadows and disappeared from sight.

  Wulfwyn placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Follow.”

  Peter crept after him as they circled the dell. Three times Wulfwyn halted and listened. Peter listened too and heard the water and his breathing, but nothing more, not even Godwine as he approached from the opposite direction.

  Wulfwyn led the way down to the stream, still alert as he moved with quiet stealth. Behind them, a twig snapped, loud and sharp and Peter whirled round. Wulfwyn grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, then levelled his knife, ready to thrust. A bush rustled and Godwine’s black outline emerged from out of the night’s grey light. He raised his hands in apology.

  Wulfwyn relaxed. “It is well. Come.” He strode down to the stream and splashed his way across to the oak. He jumped and gripped the lowest bough and pulled and swung and twisted his torso until he sat upon it, legs astride. He reached down, gripped Peter’s hand and pulled him up and then he helped Godwine too.

  Peter found many of the hand and footholds from before and climbed much quicker. The descent into the hollow trunk made his heart pump because of the pitch dark, but Wulfwyn gripped his heels and pushed each foot onto the ladder’s crude rungs.

  “Jump,” said Wulfwyn.

  Peter jumped and landed upright and didn’t wobble. Wulfwyn guided him away from the ladder as Godwine came down. Peter slipped off his backpack, but when he put it down it landed on something and fell sideways. Wulfwyn’s shield, he remembered, leaned against the trunk. He took a couple of steps sideways. Now the backpack touched the ground and he let it drop.

  The sharp scratch of flints focused his awareness on the fire pit. Sparks flashed and died and Godwine struck again, faster each time. A yellow flame ignited a ball of moss and as it caught, the flame burned orange. Wulfwyn and Godwin fed small sticks into the fire and Peter knelt and laid more sticks onto the moss. The flames brightened and Peter’s cheeks warmed from their heat.

  With a guttural shout, Godwine sprang back and reached for his sword. His wide eyes focused on something behind Peter’s shoulder. Peter rolled sideways as Wulfwyn leapt to his feet, his knife drawn.

  Eorl Bosa sat against the trunk, his knees drawn up to his chin and his hands clasped around his shins. He gazed at the fire as if hypnotized by the flames and his body shook.

  The fire crackled. Peter waited for Bosa to react, to speak, to escape, to move, but he sat and trembled and stared. Wulfwyn lowered his knife and stepped closer. He reached forward and shook Bosa’s shoulder.

  The Eorl gulped twice, like a fish out of water, and hid his face behind his knees.

  Wulfwyn glanced back at Godwine, who shook his head and shrugged.

  “He is charmed or his wits have fled,” said Wulfwyn.

  Bosa raised his head and blinked as he stared at them, one after the other. Surprise widened his eyes, as if he noticed them for the first time. “You are not... you are not...” His cracked voice held no power. “You are not come to kill me.”

/>   Wulfwyn sheathed his knife. “I do not kill men who cannot fight. Though I grant that I wish you dead, for a traitor’s life is worthless. For now, it is better that we learn what you have to tell. How is it that you are here?” He squatted beside the fire. “What has become of Leonor?”

  Bosa stretched his legs and his hand trembled as he wiped his brow. Peter stared, for around Bosa’s neck, on a leather cord, hung a green stone with a swirl of black across its surface that looked like an eye.

  Bosa spluttered. “She is lost... she is lost to... to...”

  “The spae-wife?” said Peter.

  Bosa stared at Peter from head to toe. “It is a night-horror that came upon my manor, a spirit of darkness and death that none can fight, that inflicts pain worse than any sword cut...” He covered his face and whimpered.

  Peter gripped the seal-amulet between his finger and thumb. “How did you escape, but not Leonor?”

  Bosa slumped sideways as if exhausted. “I ran... I ran...”

  Wulfwyn snorted. “Coward and traitor! You sacrifice a maiden to save your skin. You are not a man.”

  Bosa shifted until he sat upright again. “Three there were that came upon us and a fell light shrouded their approach, so that I did not know where danger threatened. They meant my death and Leonor’s, for she stood behind me and cried. I am just one, my strength, any man’s strength, is not fit to hold back such fury. They threw me aside and I dropped as one dead. My eyes dimmed, but as darkness came I saw Leonor caught and understood that they did not seek her death. For...” he glanced at Peter. “For the spae-wife shrieked and her cry howled with triumph.”

  ***

  Peter shuddered. “Where have they taken Leonor?”

  Bosa shook his head. “I fled when the darkness lifted from my eyes. I did not know if they stayed within the manor. I ran through the tunnel and my heart beat within my chest so hard that when daylight fell upon my eyes, I lay upon the ground and knew no more.”